A Rose By Any Other Name
by InsideOutlaw
Summary: What do you do when your silver-tongue grows tarnished?


The iron bars sizzled under his grip. It was already hot and stuffy in the cramped cell and it was only going to get worse as the day went on. Strangely, Hannibal Heyes found himself hoping he'd have the chance to suffer the heat; the sounds of banging signaled that the construction of the gallows was proceeding smoothly.

He let go of the bars and resumed his manic pacing about the tiny room. A slop bucket was the recipient of a rough kick that sent it flying into the cot, raising a clatter that no one else heard. His mind was keeping pace with his feet as he thought back over the previous night. Even now, he was shocked at the turn of events that had begun when he slipped into an empty chair at a low-stakes poker table.

He'd gotten bored waiting at the hotel for the Kid to arrive. They were supposed to meet up in this little podunk town after having taken separate jobs in opposite corners of the state; only his partner was late and he had started to worry. That was when he'd decided he needed a distraction so he had gone to the saloon and stood at the bar watching the poker action at a small table of four players. It had looked like a real friendly, casual game. Not much money changing hands; just four locals who looked bored at playing the same friends, hand after hand. He'd decided they needed some fresh blood to liven things up. That had been his first mistake.

The second, and maybe fatal one, had followed swiftly. The man to his left had pulled out a chair in a welcoming manner and invited him to set down. The neatly dressed man across the table had offered his name and then the introductions had continued around the table. The name Heyes had given had floated off his tongue smoothly having altogether bypassed his brain. Sam Flagg. As aliases went, it was not as colorful as some of the ones he came up with, but he'd been satisfied with it. He provided old Sam with a decent backstory, too, and smiles and nods had greeted him all around the table.

Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to see the barkeep standing behind him. The sheriff had told Heyes while putting the cuffs on, that the man had recognized the name right off and had sent one of his girls to the jail to fetch him. He had also told Heyes how stupid he was for using his real name when he was a wanted man.

That's when it all fell into place. The name had floated out of his sub-consciousness and onto his tongue so easily because he'd read it in a newspaper article a few months back. Sam Flagg had robbed a bank here a year or so ago and killed a teller in the process. How the hell had he forgotten that? He'd started talking fast, telling the sheriff his 'real' name, Joshua Smith; how he was on the way to the wedding of his best friend; all about the daughter of the mayor; how all of this was a terrible mistake. The lawman had told him to shut his trap and shoved him into this cell. When he'd asked for a lawyer, the chubby man had laughed nastily and told him there wouldn't be a trial; the whole town knew it was Flagg that killed that man and Heyes had just admitted who he was. The barred door had slammed shut in his face.

Furiously going over and over the details of the night before, he fell onto the sprung cot and put his arms behind his head. Some genius he was. Now he was lying here waiting. Waiting to see if his tardy partner would arrive in time to save him from a fate he hadn't earned. Heyes chuckled harshly at the irony. The famous Hannibal Heyes was going to get hung under another man's name, all because he'd been impatient and bored. His well-known silver tongue was going to be the instrument of his death. Once the Kid got over the shock of losing him, he'd have to have a laugh over that!

The sheriff had been nobody's fool. He'd searched his prisoner with great care and had marveled at the number of lock picks and knives Heyes had concealed on his person. There was no way he was getting out of this cell by any of his normal means. He jumped up again and resumed his circuit. If the Kid wasn't here by lunchtime, he'd have to confess to the sheriff who he really was. They were planning to hang him at noon and it was coming up fast. He could only hope that the allure of a ten thousand dollar reward would be enough to send the lawman back to his stack of wanted posters. If not, he'd hang.

Not that he didn't have faith that the Kid would arrive in time; he always did; but, damn, it was getting close. Heyes stopped at the window and glanced out again looking for his partner. If he tipped his head all the way to the right he could just see the edge of the platform being built. It looked as if it was nearly done. What if things moved along even faster now? Where the hell was the Kid? He felt a few beads of sweat drip down his cheek. Where was his famous cool now? He rubbed his clammy hands together and walked back to the bed, lying down again. He couldn't settle anywhere for long. The waiting was going to kill him before the noose did!

Heyes heard the door to the office opening and he jumped to his feet. The sheriff came in with a tray and walked over to his cell door bending down and sliding the food through the slot under the bars.

"Maisie, over at the café, made you a real fine last meal, Mr. Flagg. Enjoy."

"You eat it. I'm not hungry." Heyes slid the tray back under the door. "Sheriff, you've got to listen to me. I'm not Sam Flagg."

"If you ain't Sam Flagg, why'd you tell everyone you was?"

Heyes had no answer for that question. He'd spent all night trying to think of a plausible reason, but there wasn't any. Not without admitting that he was using an alias and that was going to open the rest of this can of worms. He didn't want to do that until he knew all hope was gone. Maybe it already was. The hammering had stopped and he glanced back over his shoulder.

"They're gonna be ready for you soon, Flagg. It'd be best to square things with your maker. The undertaker's gonna measure you up for a real special box; one with a window in it so's they can put you on display down at the town square. You're gonna be famous."

"You sure have a nice way of cheering a fella up, Sheriff," said Heyes, sinking onto the bed yet again and dropping his head in his hands. The waiting really was killing him. He sighed deeply, slumped back against the warm stone wall at his back, and closed his eyes. He must've dozed off from exhaustion for a second or two, because he was startled awake by the sound of the cell door opening again.

"Flagg, on your feet; spread your arms and lean up against the wall," barked the lawman, gesturing to his prisoner with the butt of the gun he held.

Heyes stood up unsteadily and did as he'd been told. He bowed his head and prepared himself for his final plea. "I gotta tell you something, Sheriff. There was a good reason I didn't give those men my real name, I'm…"

A blow to his back shut him up mid-sentence. "Quiet! You out there, get in here. He's ready; hurry up and get your measurements."

Heyes heard another pair of footsteps come down the aisle and into his cell; the undertaker.

"Flagg, you make one move and you're a dead man. Don't just stand there, get the hell in here," growled the sheriff to the undertaker.

Heyes closed his eyes as he felt a pair of arms encircle his waist. He shuddered as the tape measured him from his feet to his head. He felt the man shift to measuring his arms and something slipped into his hands; a lock pick. His eyes flew open and he found blue eyes, wearing a pair of spectacles, staring back at him compassionately. A strong hand squeezed his forearm. It took all his strength of will not to smile at his partner.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Flagg, I'm gonna give you a real nice send-off," said the Kid.

Heyes couldn't trust himself to speak. He nodded his thanks as his knees nearly buckled. The Kid helped him back to his bunk while the Sheriff kept the two men covered. After settling the prisoner, Curry straightened the cuffs on the black suit he was wearing; suddenly all business again.

"The boss says I need a down payment on the coffin. Ten dollars'll do it. He's got to buy some new pine. The last batch got warped from the rain and the lumber company ain't givin' him credit no more."

"For the love of….I ain't got that much on me. C'mon, we'll see about getting' you that wood," the lawman plucked his hat from the rack by the door and waited as the tall, blond haired man led the way out of the jail.

OOOOOOOOOO

"More whiskey?" The Kid held the bottle over Heyes's glass, refilling it while his cousin's hand shook. After Heyes had escaped and met the Kid outside of town, they'd ridden two hours before reining up to see if they'd been followed. Curry had taken one look at his partner's pale face and had declared a stop for lunch.

"Kid, thanks, that was too close for comfort. You know, I'm getting too old for this life when I can't come up with a simple alias." Heyes downed his third glassful.

"We're gettin' out of this life for just that reason."

"Yeah, I just hope amnesty will be worth all this trouble." Heyes picked at the dried biscuit he held on his lap.

"It'll be worth it."

"Right this second, I'm not as sure as you are."

"Well, you know what that Shakespeare fellow said in that play about that crazy Danish guy that you liked so much: We know what we are, but not what we may be."

"How'd you remember that? Seems to me you slept through the whole thing."

"Naw, I was just lying in wait for it to end."


End file.
